The Cuddle Clause

by Roxie Ray

“If they can’t carry emotional baggage and literal baggage,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin, “they’re not roommate material.” “Good thing I have suitcases full of both,” I muttered as I unlocked the car.

Mafia? Werewolf HOA? High-stakes event planning? I didn’t ask. Not my circus, not my moon-blessed wolf cult.

If I had to fake-date someone, at least it was someone with excellent arms and a body that looked like it could bench-press my trauma.

And then, God help me, he kissed me. It wasn’t fast. It definitely wasn’t innocent. It was thorough. His hands stayed on my waist, fingers flexing like he meant it. His mouth was warm and confident and terrifyingly good at this fake boyfriend thing. My knees actually buckled.

This was fine. Everything was fine. I just needed to chill. Literally. Emotionally. Existentially.

The kiss was soft at first, like a question we weren’t sure how to ask. But then his fingers slid higher up my thigh, and my mouth opened, and the kiss stopped being gentle. It deepened. It pulled. It ached. His hand found the back of my neck and he pulled me closer like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Because I loved her. And no part of me ever wanted to love her with a lie.

I loved Maggie. Not the kind of puppy love I used to roll my eyes at. Not lust. Not affection. Not convenience. I loved her the way I loved running as a wolf in winter. With my whole body. With bone-deep clarity.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time, but I didn’t realize it until I thought I had lost you.”

In his arms, in front of a crowd of sweaty strangers and a punching bag that had taken the brunt of my heartbreak, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Safe. Not because he saved me. But because he saw me. Because he stayed. And I would never let go.

We stood like that. Two chaotic, formerly fake-dating, formerly emotionally avoidant people who had somehow figured it out.